Nobody
by Priestess of the Myrmidon
Summary: Oneshot. Lancelot’s brother died he mourns. Sort of an ElaineLancelot fic, I guess. Please read and review!


Title: Nobody

Rating: K+

Summary: Oneshot. Lancelot's brother died; he mourns. Sort of an Elaine/Lancelot fic, I guess. Please read and review!

Genre: Angst (I love torturing Lancelot.)

Pairing: Lance/OC… sort of.

Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own any of the knights; just Elaine and Lamorak.

A/N: I'm feeling quite productive. Three stories in four days! So Lamorak wasn't Lancelot's brother; sue me:D

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_So go on and scream  
Scream at me I'm so far away  
I won't be broken again  
I've got to breathe - I can't keep going under_

_-_Evanescence

He'd been a sweet boy with dancing, joyous brown eyes, and black, springy curls. He had looked exactly like Lancelot… only younger. At eight summers, he had been taken-seized more like (quite literally, actually) - from their home. There had been a shortage of Sarmatian boys, and they needed two more; the damn Romans took him and Galahad. Had Lamorak not been taken, had he been at home, he wouldn't be dead. He wouldn't be in a grave right then.

He tried to erase the memory of the young knight's hand, extended out to him for mercy. Those sparkling brown eyes dull with utter pain and fear. Lancelot had seen many, many terrible things in the time that he had fought for Rome, but to see his younger brother so was the worst of it all.

Lancelot clenched his teeth, fighting against the memories that the swords about him evoked. Kay, Bedrieve, Andred, Lyonell, Aggravaine, Lamorak, Gaheris, Percival, Gareth, Yvaine…. A tear fought its way out of Lancelot's tightly clenched eyes- something he would never have dared to do in the presence of his fellow knights- leaving a clean streak in the grime that had gathered on the dark knight's face. With his lip curled in disgust at his weakness, he hurriedly wiped the lone tear away.

All of the others had left for a night of drinking, gambling and women. But not he; he couldn't. Not when his brother's grave was still fresh. Not when he could not stay composed.

They had arrived at Hadrian's Wall in the morning, buried him soon after, and he was now sitting on his younger brother's burial mound. He took a swig from the flagon that was clutched tightly in his hand. "I'll be along soon enough, Brother," he whispered, lovingly tracing the Sarmatian designs on his brother's sword. Now that Lamorak was gone, there was naught that inspired much life in him. He had no rights to his own sons; he'd killed far too many sons, and husbands, and brothers and cousins. And no religion; anything that brought a man (even willingly) to his knees was disturbing.

She watched him sit there, talking and drinking. Elaine knew she shouldn't be there. She knew she should walk back to Hadrian's Wall. She knew she had no right to watch this. But she was riveted by the sadness and blankness on the dark knight's face.

"Lancelot?" she asked him hesitantly. "Lancelot? Are you all right?" He glanced up at her, eyes haunted. Where had the man she knew gone? In his place was a young, broken boy who had just lost the remnants of his family.

"What the hell are you doing here? Do you not think that I am here so that I do not have to be in your insufferable presence?" he snarled viciously. His face softened slightly as her shoulders slumped. "Don't go!" he whispered, voice hoarse, when she turned to leave, muffling a sob. "Don't go!" She turned around, and hurried to his side, and lowered herself to the ground next to him. She pulled Lancelot into a hug, and he gave into the urge; he sobbed into her bosom, somehow at ease in her presence. "Oh gods... Lamorak... I swore... to our parents... to protect him. Look at... him now... he's _dead." _Lancelot choked out the last word. As she cradled his head, Elaine stroked his curly, dark tresses.

"'It will be okay, Lancelot. It will be okay. It is not your fault." As she comforted Lancelot, she too cried for the charming man who should not have met such an early end.

"But it is,"he insisted brokenly. I _swore_ it to them on my life, and now? He's dead!"Lancelot was so upset he was having problems speaking Latin correctly. It broke her heart.

These men were killers. They had not chosen it, and had been forced into this life at a young age. They'd formed bonds to only loose that loved one; she could not even imagine the pain that the man before her was going through.

Elaine glared at him angrily. "Now look here Lancelot! The one to blame is the damned Woad and his arrow _not_ you, you hear me?"she said firmly. Lancelot nodded slightly.

Nobody understood him like she did. Hell, he hadn't even known himself as well as she did.

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All right, this is my second attempt at a Lancelot fic. Well? I'm not sure if it seemed like Lancelot. 

Priestess


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